


we'll be the sum

by afrocurl, ninemoons42



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik is a Sweetheart, First Kiss, Gen, Kid Fic, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Puppy Love, Schoolboys, Sleepovers, Sleepy Cuddles, blanket burrito
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:10:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In between bouts of blanket burrito-ing and vegging out on movies, Charles and Erik figure out how they currently feel about each other.</p><p>Of course, they're schoolboys and they're on a sleepover and also Edie dotes on them both excessively, so things work out just fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll be the sum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sorujaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorujaa/gifts).



> Written for the following Secret Mutant prompt:
> 
> _Kid!Erik invites kid!Charles on a sleepover. Charles is scared because Erik is his first and only friend and he's never slept in a strange house before. Charles doesn't really know how to react to the Lehnsherrs being one big happy family. He's confused and maybe a little jealous but mostly he's just soaking up all the affection and attention (he's also Erik's first friend and Edie instantly adores him)._
> 
> _Erik notices something's not quite right with Charles (who never told him about his life at home - how exactly bad it is is up to you) and prods and prods until Charles finally tells him everything. Erik gets all angry and protective. Cue blankets fort and snacks and hot chocolate. Also first kiss._
> 
> _Whether they have powers or not is up to you._

The farther away they got from Greymalkin Lane, the more nervous Charles got.

“Mister John, what if Erik’s parents don’t like me?” he asked, quietly. He reached out again for the clumsily-wrapped gift box next to his backpack, which was almost twice as big as its normal size, because he’d packed several t-shirts and a couple of pairs of extra socks into it.

In the box were two large glass jars of lemon curd and plum jam, which Mrs Dawson had given Charles the night before, while he’d been drinking a glass of warm milk in the kitchen. 

“What if they don’t like the things I brought them?”

“I’d turn around and reassure you, Master Charles,” Mister John said, kindly, “it’s just that I’m driving, and I have to keep my eyes on the road.” The man had a way of laughing quietly that felt warm against Charles’s thoughts. “But I think that there’s no need for you to worry.”

“Why not?”

“They won’t just like you because you’re a friend of their son,” Mister John said. “I think they’ll like you just for yourself. After all, you are carrying a gift for them, and I overheard Master Erik telling you that there was no need to do so.”

“It’s a nice thing to do,” Charles said, swinging his feet carefully. 

“And I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”

“I hope so,” Charles said, and then he stopped talking.

In his head, though, he felt very nervous, like there was something trying to chew its way through the soles of his shoes. 

That feeling only intensified as the skyline of New York City heaved back into view and then Mister John was maneuvering them past LaGuardia and onwards. 

At the first roar of distant minds too far overhead to distinguish from each other Charles pressed his nose to his window, peering up into the cloud-streaked sky. Flash of bright color, the fin of a passenger plane. 

A forest of two- and three-storey row houses began to sprout up around them and Charles found himself thinking about living among neighbors and strangers. It would be noisy, he decided, and he hoped that it might be interesting, with people coming in and going out at all hours, new families settling in and others setting down more permanent roots, and sidewalks full of chalk drawings and children playing games.

And mutants, like him, he added, blinking as they passed a playground and a group of children dancing, under the keen eyes of a tall woman with bright red hair and skin. He was familiar with the idea - after all, something like that happened at school rather frequently - but it had never crossed his mind that the same kind of scene might play out elsewhere. 

One of the dancers had a long tail, and another had light-green skin, and a third seemed to have his feet planted permanently in some kind of miniature whirlwind.

“I want to know what it would be like to live here,” he told Mister John, quietly, as they turned another corner.

“I hope you get that chance. Now, I think we’re on the right street?”

Charles blinked and reached out to the houses, searching for a particular set of thoughts - or not thoughts, actually, just the sense of a shield around someone’s mind.

Erik’s real ability had to do with control of metal and of magnetism, but for some reason that Charles didn’t quite understand yet, that ability had something to do with the way Erik’s mind worked, too. It was like he could shield his thoughts, naturally and strongly, without anyone ever having taught him how.

Erik hadn’t even known that he was shielding until Charles met him and told him so to his face, on the very first day of first grade.

“There,” Charles said, “the house with the yellowish door.”

Here he could sense Erik’s mind, and at least two others: minds full of languages and songs and the lingering idea of laughter, of cheerfulness, and Charles wanted to laugh and cry and hide away and run towards Erik’s mind, toward the others, toward all of them at once.

He waited, nervous and impatient all at once, as Mister John parked the car - then he jumped out onto the sidewalk with his backpack and his box and stared up at the row house, three floors and red brick and the yellow door that was being thrown open without anyone touching it.

“Charles!”

And he was very nearly mowed down by a bright grin and a familiar face and Charles grinned in spite of his fears and threw Erik off as best as he could, not without some difficulty, and that not just because he was carrying so much. “Here I am,” he said. “And you smell of bread being baked.”

-

Jakob wanted to admonish Edie to stop being such a nosy mother, but he knew that nothing would come of it. She had been positively giddy since Erik had said over Shabbos dinner the previous week that Charles, his best friend from school, was coming over to stay with them for a night.

She had gone out of her way to make the house as warm and welcoming as possible, if only to show Charles that families could be filled with love and not merely a cold shoulder and ineffective displays of affection. 

She’d held his hand so tightly as Erik told them of the little he knew about Charles’s home life.

“Just let me do this for the boys,” she had said time and time again when Erik was off at school or working on his homework. He let her, because he knew there was no way to stop her, but now that Charles had been dropped off by a very austere-looking chauffeur, his wife was acting as if Erik and Jakob were inconsequential.

“Give them space,” he said one last time as he watched her hide in the kitchen, the gift from Charles not far out of her sight. 

Erik’s voice moved through the rooms, telling him that the two boys were walking into the living room. 

She just shushed him and all but shooed him out of the house. If that was how she was going to be, he could take the hint and would spend some time in the shed with his tools. There was still time to check on how well Erik had managed to sharpen the edges on a few things before the winter set in. He grabbed his mobile phone, just as a reminder that he’d have to keep Edie distracted, lest she smother the boys to death.

 _Let them be,_ was the very first message he sent, knowing it would only do so much good when there were still a few hours before dinner.

-

“I’ll just get started on dinner, boys, so why don’t you two watch a DVD or two until then,” she said as she peered into the living room to see Charles and Erik awkwardly sitting on their old couch and not saying much.

Or maybe they were saying things that she wasn’t meant to hear; she still wasn’t exactly sure of Charles’s limits with his telepathy yet, and it was never her business to ask Erik directly. She just knew that Erik’s friend was a telepath - growing more powerful by the week - and that he liked Erik, even if her son was a little gruff and well on the way to being taciturn.

The television switched itself on shortly after that, and Edie sighed. It was the least she could do, and maybe if they had chosen something funny the night wouldn’t be a complete disaster. Erik had rarely had any friends come all the way out to their house, even though their school accepted mutant children from all across the city and its sprawl of suburbs, and she wasn’t sure if that was just because Erik didn’t make friends easily or if he was ashamed of their meager little row house.

As she kept that train of thought going, though, she realized that Charles might be overhearing all of what she was thinking. She stopped dead then, and tried to focus instead on the time it was going to take to make this stew just right and if she had time to make any more cookies for dessert. There was already a small plate waiting on one of the counters, which she was planning to drop off for the boys as they waited for dinner.

She felt her phone buzz in her pocket and let out a laugh as she looked at another one of Jakob’s texts. This one read: _If you stay so close they’ll never get closer to each other. Start the stew and come see what Erik did with the pinking shears, shovel and trowel._

Looking at the chopped ingredients, she placed them all into the large pot and set it to simmer.

-

After a long and exhausting - but delicious - dinner with his parents and Charles, Erik wanted nothing more than to settle in for the fun part: watching scary movies and not sleeping because they were both too scared to close their eyes. Only as he watched his parents walk up the stairs for the night, Erik felt like something was wrong.

 _I don’t want to watch scary movies,_ Charles said while they were busy pushing the coffee table and extra chairs out of the way, so they could sprawl out between the couch and the television.

 _But that’s all we rented before,_ Erik mentally added, not wanting to have his mother know exactly what he and his father had done before when they had run that particular errand.

 _What if we watched one of the ones you rented and then I picked something else?_ Charles reasoned, and Erik nodded because he would never ruin this night for Charles. It was too important for him that Charles had agreed to come for it all to go to hell because he was too pigheaded to compromise.

“Okay, but I pick the first movie,” Erik said out loud before he padded over to the DVD boxes and opened one. _Does “The Ring” sound okay?_

 _I guess,_ was Charles’s mental reply, and Erik carefully watched as Charles collected more blankets and pillows than anyone would ever actually need. Charles’s little fort made Erik smile - just a little - and he put the movie on and couldn’t wait to watch it and devour all of his mama’s cookies.

The movie was just as scary as Erik thought it would be, and he lost himself in the violence and the screaming and the images of the angry little girl, until he heard a tiny mental question just before the end. 

_Is it over yet?_

Hidden behind collected blankets and pillows, Erik could barely make out Charles’s eyes and the reflections of the well. “Yes,” he whispered. “You choose the next one. One where you won’t be the stuffing of a burrito.”

Charles sniffed in a way that make Erik nervous, and unburrowed himself before looking through the tiny collection of DVDs that Erik’s family had.

The only warning Erik really had that Charles had picked the next movie out was a startled squeak - and so Erik had to move as quickly as he could, waving his hand at the DVD player to remove _The Ring_ before letting Charles drop in his chosen movie.

Moments later, Erik almost regretted letting Charles choose because Erik was now forced to watch _The Princess Bride_ for what must have been the two-hundredth time. He smiled, though, because Charles had stayed away from his makeshift hovel and was happily watching the movie with relish.

As funny as the movie was, Erik _had_ already seen it, so he amused himself with mouthing along with the script and the punchlines.

Wesley had just revealed that his true identity to Buttercup, rolling down the hill with his old cry of _As you wish,_ when Erik looked over to see that Charles was no longer watching the movie. He’d curled up into a little ball instead, blue-striped PJs and one of the large green blankets, and he was sleeping quietly. There was something adorable about the fact that Charles had dropped off so quickly - they hadn’t even made it to the halfway point yet - but Erik tried to keep that thought quiet, in case Charles overheard him.

It was so unlike Charles to not finish something, but he looked so happy sleeping on top of the blankets and pillows he had hidden behind earlier. Erik carefully moved a few more of them around so that Charles wouldn’t get cold, and slowly pressed a kiss to Charles’s forehead - like Ma always did. 

Then he turned his attention back to the movie and found himself drifting off just before Buttercup was to marry Humperdinck. He stayed awake for the end, but as the kid and grandpa were sharing their last moment, Erik cuddled up next to Charles and found a few remaining blankets to keep himself warm.

-

Mornings were Charles’s favorite part of the day.

At least, he meant mornings before anyone else could be up.

He liked being able to be awake and alone with his thoughts for an hour, perhaps two, if he was lucky: to be by himself without having to shield against the mental pressure of the other people in the house.

Oh, he didn’t mind Mister John’s thoughts, or Mrs Dawson’s. He liked hearing their thoughts, and the thoughts of the rest of the household staff. 

It was the minds that belonged to the people who were supposed to be his family that he didn’t like at all.

He’d become familiar with the acrid odors of alcohol long since: they were the background and constant driving force in his mother’s mind. He still didn’t know what she was drowning herself for, or what she was really thinking every time she poured herself another drink. Even the old memories of herself and his father were too soaked in drink and he’d long since given up on trying to find them.

He’d wanted to have them for himself, since she was never in any condition to share, and because he’d never really had more than a shadow of a memory of his father. The only reason he knew Brian’s name, his face, at all had been because he’d caught glimpses of them from her, long ago, when she was still capable of looking at Charles.

Now he never saw her at all.

That was partly because of the company she kept.

Mother was never alone. There was always one Marko or another around her. 

Charles sat up, now, and blinked in confusion, because the sense of the house in Westchester was missing - because the minds he knew and took care to hide from were nowhere near his mind.

He was on the floor, wrapped in blankets, and there was a heavy presence at his side that felt so familiar - but he didn’t place that mind until he actually looked over, and - 

Erik. It was Erik.

Charles reached out tentatively to the edges of Erik’s mind, unshielded for once.

All he wanted was to feel what Erik’s thoughts felt like because his friend walked around with unconscious walls towering around his mind. Like Mrs Dawson, he thought, who made him think of lemons and cinnamon and bread waiting to rise. Just a sense of her, nothing at all related to her actual thoughts.

He wanted something like that of Erik’s.

Metal on his tongue, sharp and strange, and toothed moving parts - and Charles thought, suddenly, of the treasure he kept at home, buried in a box in the depths of his wardrobe. A pocket watch and the initials BX and a year on the inside of the cover. The soft soothing tick of the second passing. The watch no longer kept accurate time, but it had been his father’s, and it was something he was determined to hold on to for as long as he could.

Erik’s thoughts kind of felt like that.

There was something else, that he couldn’t dig deeper for - not without asking Erik for permission. Insistent, as though Erik were saying his name in his sleep, again and again.

Charles scooted in closer, touched a fingertip to Erik’s wrist.

_Charles._

_Erik?_ he sent back, gently.

No answer. Just his name again.

Erik was _dreaming_ of him.

Charles pulled away in a hurry, wanting to leave his friend to the privacy of his thoughts - 

But his hand brushed Erik’s shoulder as he pushed himself to his feet and the image flashed into his mind, complete and perfect:

 _He was Erik and he was looking down at himself, at a sleeping Charles, as_ The Princess Bride _continued on the TV screen, unnoticed._

_Charles was asleep and he looked warm, safe, and Erik moved some of the blankets around to keep him that way, and then - leaned over, soft touch against Charles’s forehead._

“Erik,” Charles said, and the house was quiet around the two of them, and the morning sunlight fell golden into their nest of pillows and blankets.

He knelt again, carefully. He didn’t want to touch Erik any more than was strictly necessary, because he didn’t want to see any more of Erik’s thoughts, which belonged to Erik alone.

But he could return kindness for kindness, friendship for friendship, and he kissed Erik’s temple, with his heart on his lips.

\- 

Edie tried to suppress another smile as Erik pushed the butter dish in Charles’s direction - never mind that he’d _also_ offered Charles most of the bread, and several pieces of fruit, and even a clean spoon to dip into the jar of lemon curd that Charles had said came from the kitchen at his house in Westchester.

Truth be told, it was a little strange - the sweet kind of strange - to see Erik fuss over his friend so. 

She put her hand in her pocket for her mobile phone and remembered standing in the doorway to the living room that morning, remembered her hands trembling so much she could hardly press the shutter button. 

Erik on his side and curled around a pillow as was his wont - and then, a layer of blanket, and Charles plastered up against his back.

Jakob’s reaction to the photo had not been one of amused admonishment as she’d been expecting. All he’d said was, “Never, never, _never_ delete that.”

“Of course,” she’d said.

Now here was Erik pressing Charles into eating more breakfast, and here was Charles beaming. His eyes seemed to keep darting around the kitchen, and where Edie saw dust settling onto the tiles and the remnants of flour from making the day’s bread he seemed to see - something she couldn’t see. 

“It feels very warm here,” Charles said, suddenly, out of a clear blue sky. “It’s a very nice kitchen, Mrs Lehnsherr.”

“Please, I told you last night to call me Edie,” she told him. 

Then she followed her son’s example and offered him another plate of cookies.

After breakfast she directed Erik to help her with the dishes, and watched Charles jump out of his chair and push it back in towards the table before offering to help, and she listened indulgently as the two boys actually began to argue about washing up - until that conversation was broken off by Charles’s eyes going wide.

“I - Erik,” Charles said. “I’m supposed to be going home now.”

She watched Erik make an unhappy face. “We’ve lost track of the time - we were going to find Steve and Bucky and Bruce and ask them to play chess with us.”

“Some other time?”

“I don’t get why you have to go home so quickly.”

“I don’t want to go, either.”

She thought she heard Charles sigh before coming up to her and offering his little hand. “Thank you so much for having me - Edie.”

“I’m sorry Jakob couldn’t be here to see you off,” she told him. “But you must come again. I insist. And Erik agrees with me, don’t you?” She threw her son a conspiratorial wink.

“I do I do,” was Erik’s quick answer.

“Thank you,” Charles said again.

She squeezed his hand once more and let him go, and she watched him walk slowly out of the kitchen, back to the living room where his things were.

Erik looked stricken for a moment, and went to her for a hug. “I don’t want him to go, Mama.”

“You and me both, darling,” she said. “Go with him.”

Erik kissed her cheek and darted after Charles.

She followed them, more sedately, and stopped at the window so she could see them walk out onto the stoop together.

Now she could only watch them and not hear them. Even then, Charles seemed both sad and jumpy about something, and she hoped that Erik could help him - 

Just as the black car swung up onto their part of the street and stopped right across she saw Charles take Erik’s hand and squeeze it, saw Erik lean in and say something - 

And she saw Charles go pale and then go red and then lean in to kiss Erik on his cheek.

-

Erik stayed on the stoop even after the car that Charles had climbed into was long gone. He’d tried to follow it with his eyes before letting his ability take over, but even with that he could only really stay with Charles for another few blocks.

Charles, Erik remembered, had kissed him.

Charles had also been shocked by the last thing Erik said.

_I want you to stay, always._

And he’d watched the blush darken even more, almost erasing Charles’s freckles - but Charles had said nothing in reply.

Feeling dejected, Erik pushed himself up from the stairs and slowly walked back into the house.

Mama was watching him intently and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Erik had no way of answering that, because he didn’t know if things were wrong or right. He felt clumsy and strange and unhappy.

So all he could say was, “He left without saying when he’d be back.”

“Well there’ll be school on Monday, so why don’t you ask him,” she said before passing him one of the remaining cookies from yesterday. “It’ll be fine, I promise.”

Erik wasn’t sure he believed her, but he tried to smile and put on a brave face all the same. Maybe if he was lucky, Charles would call once he arrived at home to reassure Erik that their sleepover hadn’t been a disaster.

-

“Here we are, Master Charles,” Mister John said as he pulled into the garage.

Charles blinked. He wasn’t in Erik’s neighborhood any more. Wasn’t on Erik’s _street_ \- 

Erik had wanted him to stay - 

And he hadn’t answered him!

Charles felt hot and cold all over and he put his arms around himself, shivering.

“Master Charles, are you all right?”

“No,” he said. “Mister John?”

“Yes?”

Charles gulped and looked up. “Could I maybe borrow your phone? I just - I forgot to tell Erik something, and he’s too far from me right now, I can’t reach him from here - ”

Mister John nodded, and fished his mobile phone from his pocket. It was heavy and shiny and strange in Charles’s hands. “Take all the time you need.”

Charles punched in the number from memory, his and Erik’s both, and went to hide behind the other side of the car, and hopped uncertainly from foot to foot as the ringing went on.

“Lehnsherr residence,” said a familiar voice.

“Edie,” Charles squeaked. “Please could I talk to Erik? Please? I - I’m so sorry he said something and I didn’t reply and I think I’ve hurt his feelings I’m so sorry - ”

“Calm down, Charles, and take a deep breath,” Edie said, firm and kind at the same time. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t,” she added, but those two words didn’t seem to be for Charles. “He’s almost frantic, Erik, he needs to talk to you right now.”

“Erik? Erik!” Charles hollered. “I want to stay! Please!” He said the words with his voice, with his mind. _I want to stay with you, always._

A scuffle on the phone, and Erik’s shocked voice. “I - Charles? Was that you? In my head?”

 _Please say you’ll want me to stay with you,_ Charles thought again. _Please._

“Charles? _Yes._ ”

He couldn’t see Erik’s smile. That was okay; he could feel it, the sense of it, warm and bright in his mind.


End file.
